Fix Me Up Good
by zeph317toho
Summary: AU: When things start to go wrong in Stiles' apartment at the old Hale house, he finds out the maintenance guy is kind of hot but doesn't seem to appreciate Stiles' unique sense of humor.


**Title:** Fix Me Up Good

**Pairing:** Derek/Stiles

**Rating:** Mature

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything related to Teen Wolf or these characters, and I'm not making any profit from this fic.

**Warnings:** AU, adult language, many bad sexual innuendos, humor, sexual humor, adult content, sexy times

**Summary:** When things start to go wrong in Stiles' apartment at the old Hale house, he finds out the maintenance guy is kind of hot but doesn't seem to appreciate Stiles' unique sense of humor.

**Author's notes:** This is dedicated to my beloved, incredible **ophelia-seven** who is lovely, amazing and talented (and had to beta her own gift fic!). Thank you for letting me do this rework of your prompt because it was so inspirational, especially after your own experience and the plumbing commercial we shared. ;D I love you! And I still want to do it as a TH fic, so I saved up some of my bad double entendres for later!

Here's the modified prompt: _Shortly after moving into his new apartment, Stiles has to call the after-hours maintenance guy to fix his leaking toilet. After getting sight of maintenance!Derek bent over, tinkering with his plumbing, Stiles takes up a slight fascination and finds himself with several maintenance emergencies that need taken care of after hours. Slowly, Stiles builds up the sexual innuendos with Derek and finally makes his move on him. What happens next is completely up to the author, but I'd love a story dripping with UST and laced with sexual innuendos._

The noise of the toilet running kept Stiles awake all night.

That's a lie. He got about three hours of interrupted dozing partway through, but the noise drove him crazy. He'd flushed before going to bed, and the old toilet had just run. And run. And run, water trickling all night long.

Stiles hadn't wanted to call his dad just to ask him a stupid question about how to make the damn toilet stop. He'd tried Googling for a solution, but other than finding out that his flapper thingie wasn't stuck and his float thingamajig was floating, he'd poked, prodded and pulled but the water didn't stop. Then he'd remembered the valve hickey at the wall, but it was apparently as old as rust and wouldn't turn no matter how much muscle he put into it.

So, he'd tossed and turned all night unable to sleep thanks to the damnable noise. It was a good thing his water bill was included in the rent of the place he'd taken less than a month before, but his landlord was still going to get an earful. He was just grumpy enough when he finally stumbled out of bed to leave an irate voice mail to the landlord, promising himself a splurge on the largest, most sugary coffee he could find on the way to work.

Even though he knew his landlord had his cell phone number, no one called him all day. Stiles was ready to cry at the thought of losing another night's sleep to the damn noise, so he steeled himself when he got home and knocked on the door of the guesthouse behind the big old house that had been turned into apartments.

"Hello, Stiles," Peter Hale gave him the long, slow once-over and smile that he always greeted Stiles with. "How are you doing this lovely day?"

Stiles glanced behind himself at the cloudy sky spitting cold rain then back at Peter. "I'm okay, but I've been calling you all day about my toilet. Didn't you get my messages?"

"Ah yes, I did," Peter said, motioning for Stiles to come in, but Stiles had it instilled into him from early childhood by his father never to accept candy from strangers and never to follow creepy men into their houses.

"Are you going to get someone to fix it?" Stiles asked.

Peter sighed. "Didn't he call you yet? I left the messages for my nephew. He does all the maintenance around the house."

Stiles thought of all the cracked plaster, creaky steps and the leaky pipe under the bathroom sink he had to keep an old takeout container under and thought maybe this nephew wasn't so great at maintenance.

"I'm sure he meant to get back to you," Peter was saying. "He'll be getting off his day job soon, so I'll have him stop up at your apartment. You're going to be home?" At Stiles' nod, he said, "Or you're more than welcome to come in here and wait for him to get back. I have—"

"No, really, that's fine, thank you. I'll just be in my apartment. Waiting," Stiles shook off Peter's hand from his wrist, plastered on his best "I don't think you're creepy at all, sir" grin and all but ran up to his apartment.

He'd been thrilled to find the place through a newspaper classified. Just about the only places in his price range were ones with recently deceased renters or enough drug activity to keep police a constant presence. This place had seemed perfect for his first place after student housing in college. His first job, his first apartment, his first taste of true freedom. It was also his first true loneliness now that Scott was all the way across town living with his girlfriend, Allison. But, Stiles got to make friends at work and hang out on weekends at Allison and Scott's really nice condo. And if he'd only nodded or waved at the three other people who seemed to share apartments in the big, old house, that was okay.

Or it would have been, if Peter hadn't managed to make him feel uncomfortable ever since Stiles had answered the ad, and went on to give him the "family discount because I like you, Stiles, and if you live in our house, you'll be part of the family."

Stiles only hoped the rest of Peter's family wasn't as weirdly lecherous and overly familiar as he was.

Of course, he hadn't thought the nephew would be the exact opposite.

When three terse knocks sounded at his door that evening, Stiles jerked it open, saying, "Thank god you're here. I can't take that noise anymore and you're going to have one hell of a water—"

Stiles thought he could have used a bucketful of ice water when he saw the gorgeous man in front of him. Not that Peter wasn't good-looking in a creeper sort of way, but this guy — he was hot in all the obvious hot ways. Stiles suddenly wouldn't have minded getting a once-over and wrist-hold from someone who looked like he'd just swaggered off the set of a porno. He leaned against the door frame and said, "Hi there, you must be here to fix me."

The guy just looked at him from under ferocious dark brows. Stiles cleared his throat.

"You might actually need to flush my pipes. Or snake my drain," Stiles went on, trying not to fidget under the guy's gaze, which didn't seem inclined to wander up and down his body like Peter's did.

There was a moment of silence as Stiles let sink in what he'd just blurted out. "I mean, you're a plumber, right? You'll be able to fix all those pipe-related problems and—"

"The sooner you let me in, the sooner I can fix your toilet," the _and get out of here_ was unspoken, and Stiles could feel his ears start to burn in embarrassment.

"Oh, sure, yeah, come on in," he peeled himself off the doorframe and let the guy stalk through the apartment straight to the bathroom. He dropped a battered toolbox on the linoleum and knelt beside the toilet, reaching for the shut-off valve.

"Yeah, I already tried that. Thing's rusted solid. Couldn't get it to turn at all," Stiles said from his vantage point at the sink. The guy didn't respond, just grabbed a can from his toolbox and sprayed a few squirts onto the metal valve where it came out of the wall. "I think it must be completely tight, there's just no way…"

The valve turned in the guy's hand, and the toilet finally stopped running.

Stiles paused. "Well, would you look at that. Heh, I must have loosened it for you. Made it nice and easy. Got it all ready for you so it only took a little lube and it was good to go right in your hand—" Stiles realized what he was saying just about the time the guy looked up at him with a strange look on his face. Stiles flushed all the way up to his ears then stepped back with a little hand gesture. "I'll just wait out here." He turned and ran into the wall before he found the open door and stumbled into his bedroom.

"Stupid, stupid, what are you thinking?! Just because he's the sexiest thing you've ever had in your bathroom, you cannot go around saying things like that," Stiles muttered to himself as he paced through his room. He glanced at the bathroom and saw the guy still bent over the valve. He jerked his head back and hid behind the dresser when nephew Hale stood up, stripped off his black leather jacket and draped it over Stiles' lone towel rack before lifting the lid off the back of the toilet.

Stiles cocked his head and took in the tight back muscles obviously outlined under the thin, white tank top, and when the plumber leaned over further, Stiles had to check him out for plumber's crack. But he was delighted to only see the top of black boxer-briefs sticking out from the tight black jeans that stretched over firm thighs. It was without a doubt the sexiest sight he'd seen in real life, and he wasn't about to miss out on a moment of having the guy all to himself. But as good as it was ogling the muscled back and nice, firm ass in those jeans, Stiles wanted more.

With a deep, steadying breath, he leaned against the open door and cleared his throat. "I'm really glad you were able to come fix this tonight. I couldn't have taken another night of that annoying noise."

The nephew-plumber didn't make a sound as he continued tinkering with the inner workings of the toilet. Stiles tried again. "So, you're Peter's nephew, huh? That's cool. What's your name?" Silence. "I'm Stiles," he offered.

The guy sitting backwards on the toilet sighed and glanced up. "I'm Derek Hale, and yes, I'm Peter's nephew. Are you going to stand there all night?"

"Well, not all night. I was hoping at some point that you would have this fixed so I could go to bed and actually get some sleep without it sounding like Niagara Falls in here," Stiles said and Derek sighed again.

"Could you get me some things? I'll need a bucket, some old rags, a smaller container like an old cup or something you can throw away," Derek said.

Stiles jumped away from the door saying, "Sure! Sure I can do that!"

He ran to the kitchen and found the cleaning supplies his dad had left for him, in some misguided hope that he would actually clean the place himself. He gathered the bucket but he didn't have any rags, so he hoped his roll of paper towels would work. He dug out a Taco Bell cup that he'd thrown away the night before and hurried back to the bathroom just in time to see Derek pulling on his coat then picking up his toolbox.

"Oh, are you done already? You're really fast. I mean, you came so quick and now you're pulling out already, I just thought…" Stiles got a hold on himself when he realized the words that were spewing out of his mouth in that particular order.

Derek just snorted as he pushed past. "You'll have to use a bucket to flush tonight. I'll come back tomorrow morning with the parts to get it fixed. You work, right?"

"Yeah, nine to five," Stiles trailed him through the living room. "So I won't see you again?"

Derek paused with his hand on the door. "It won't take more than a few minutes. You need a new ballcock. The old one just wasn't doing the job. I'll get you fixed up tomorrow."

Stiles stared, mouth open, as Derek left.

"That one wasn't me," he called out in the most forlorn voice he'd ever heard himself use. "Well, Stiles, you just got shot down by the hottest guy you've ever met. Let's just pretend this never happened."

That's why Stiles' luck only lasted a week when he left his Jeep overnight in the garage for new brakes and drove home the garage's rental. He'd pulled into his parking spot when he realized his apartment keys were on the same keychain he'd left at the garage. He bounced his forehead off the steering wheel. The garage had just been closing up for the night when he'd dropped off his Jeep, so he knew there was no way he could get the keys back now. He'd just have to man up and face Peter to let him in.

It was times like these that Stiles wished he still had that pepper spray his father had bought him when he left for university. Although Stiles had protested it was girlie, his dad had responded that he wasn't about to let Stiles loose with any kind of weapon, but at least with the spray he was more likely to hurt himself than anyone else. It turned out to be true before he even got to university when he and Scott were playing around. And yes, Stiles could vouch that pepper spray to the eyes, nose and mouth hurt like a bitch.

Still, it would have been nice to fend off Peter, he thought as he knocked on the guesthouse door. After a minute of drumming out his anxiety with knuckles on the wood, the door jerked open and he almost over-balanced and fell inside.

"Well, hello," he said to Derek's chest, showcased nicely in a form-fitting black T-shirt. Then he looked into Derek's eyes and said "Hello" again.

Derek just grunted. "What do you want?"

"Ha, funny story, actually. I had to take my Jeep in to the garage because the front brakes have been making this weird squeaky sound every time I have to brake hard. Not that I normally drive that fast and have to slam on the brakes because my dad always taught me—"

Derek's hand made the little universal sign for "hurry the hell up," so Stiles rattled faster. "So, I just left my Jeep at the garage and ha, can you believe it? My apartment keys were on that ring so I am now locked out of my apartment. Crazy, huh?" He gave a little laugh. Derek didn't alter his expression at all. Stiles wandered frantically if the guy only had two expressions — uninterested or irritated. Then he saw expression three — frustrated — when Derek sighed and walked into the house.

Stiles didn't know if he should follow or if Derek was just blowing him off, but he risked a peek into the living room that didn't look like a sinister den of iniquity that he thought Peter's place might. No chains, shackles, nothing like that in sight. Just Derek rummaging through a desk in the corner then coming back to the door and motioning for Stiles to move.

Stiles did and followed Derek all the way across the lawn to the main house then up the steps to his apartment.

"So, this is the old family house? You grow up here?" Stiles tried to start a proper conversation, swearing to himself he wouldn't let it go back into the crazy double entendres.

Derek just answered, "Yes."

"This place is great. Must have been really nice when it was all fixed up." Derek spared him a look that could have frozen ice, and Stiles realized how that must have sounded. "Uh, I mean, it's an awesome old house, it's just old, you know, and there must be a lot of upkeep so you're probably really busy and I don't know how you keep up with everything, but you're doing a good job!"

He rattled out the end as they got to his door, and Derek wasted no time jamming in the key, but he must have picked the wrong one because he mumbled under his breath and tried another. It worked, and Stiles tried to thank him with a running commentary.

"Wow, thanks. You really know how to work that key, you just stick it right in there. Yeah, you just slot it in, and it went in so smooth. It fit just right. That's just…" Stiles met Derek's eyes and noticed his eyebrows were doing this weird thing and Stiles couldn't quite read the expression. He cleared his throat and finished, "Perfect. Thanks."

Derek pushed the door open but stood against the doorframe while Stiles stopped just inside. "I'm serious," he said. "I'm sorry for bothering you, but thanks for letting me in."

Derek turned to leave without acknowledgement, and it pissed off Stiles a little, so he grabbed the shoulder of Derek's shirt and pulled hard enough so that Derek turned. "It was really good of you to go out of your way for me. I know I'm just acting kind of weird, but it's the first time I've lived on my own and these stupid things keep happening and I'm sorry."

Stiles realized that he was still holding onto Derek's shoulder when Derek looked at the place Stiles was touching him then up into his eyes then back to the shoulder then back at Stiles. Stiles let out a groan and let go quickly. "Sorry."

Derek just pocketed the keys and walked away.

"Thanks again for opening me up," Stiles called after him, just for the pleasure of seeing Derek's shoulders hunch up as he started down the stairs.

Stiles let his forehead hit the door a couple times as he chanted "Stupid, stupid, stupid." Then he steeled himself and made a solemn vow that he would never, ever need Derek Hale for anything ever again. Technically he broke the vow later that night when he was thinking of Derek's broad hands with the big, long fingers when he came, but since masturbating didn't conjure the real Derek, Stiles figured it was okay.

Then he swore at himself two nights later when his kitchen faucet began to drip right after he filled a sauce pan to make ramen. He just pushed the lever down harder, but in that way that plumbing has of being particularly vengeful, it only made the drip faster. By the time he'd eaten all the ramen directly out of the pan, the drip was more of a steady stream. Stiles was able to turn off the valve under the sink this time, and he just left it off. It was terribly inconvenient to bring water from the bathroom every time he needed it, and of course, it was the hot water that was leaking so he had to turn it on quickly when he wanted to wash dishes. But, it was really, really annoying.

He lasted almost two weeks when, as his bad luck would have it, he was parking and saw Peter and Derek getting out of the gorgeous black Camaro he'd noticed in the parking area. Although he'd managed to avoid Derek simply because their paths never crossed, Stiles was more than happy to just give a little wave in their direction and keep his head down as he walked into the house.

Of course, Peter wouldn't let it go.

"Stiles!" he called over. "How are you? Everything going well in the apartment?"

"Uh, yeah, great. Fantastic, even," Stiles answered without getting closer. It looked like Derek smirked.

"So you aren't in need of any more servicing? Anything else you need taken care of?" Stiles couldn't believe Peter said that, but it actually looked like he was being sincere. Or at least as sincere as Peter could look. He wondered what Derek had said about him, especially since Derek was definitely smirking now, probably laughing at Stiles' stupidity. The thought made him a little angry and he spoke up without consulting the part of his brain that took his vows very seriously.

"Actually, I've been having a little bit of trouble with the kitchen faucet," he said.

"Oh?" Peter had a look of completely sincere worry on his face that Stiles found a little off-putting.

"Yeah. It wants to drip constantly. I've been keeping the valve off, but it's kind of a pain in the ass to keep getting hot water from the bathroom."

"Oh, yes, we can't have that. You should have said something." Peter elbowed Derek and pointed at Stiles. "Derek, go check out it out and make sure you do a good job on him."

It looked to Stiles like Derek muttered something at Peter that made him start to grin before Peter got it under control. But, Derek did grab a toolbox out of the Camaro's trunk then stalk across the parking area and gesture for Stiles in a way that didn't look completely rude. "Come on. Show me," he said.

"Right-o, let's go," Stiles murmured to Derek's broad back as he followed him up the stairs. Derek barely moved away from the door while Stiles tried to unlock it and fumbled the keys. He could have sworn Derek rolled his eyes, but when Stiles managed to open the door, he triumphantly raised his hands and said, "Yes, I am awesome."

He didn't have to imagine Derek rolling his eyes that time; he just pushed past and went straight into the kitchen. Stiles dropped off his laptop bag on the couch and followed slower. Derek was already kneeling in front of the sink, and for a moment, Stiles' imagination conjured up another vision of Derek on his knees looking at him as intensely as he was gazing at the pipes under the sink. It was probably that mental picture that was to blame for Stiles' brain malfunctioning and his mouth taking over, he thought later.

"You really do know your way around plumbing, don't you? You definitely have a way with handling pipes," Stiles said.

Derek's back froze for an instant than he stood up and tried the faucet. Somehow—and Stiles never did figure out what he'd done wrong—the faucet sprayer was turned on, so Derek caught a face and chestful of water. He jumped to turn it off, but whatever had happened to the faucet made it refuse to shut off, so the water kept spraying all over him while Stiles could only stand and enjoy the show. Until he realized Derek was struggling and getting upset.

"Shit, shit, shit," Stiles dove for the cabinet while Derek kept trying to turn the sprayer around so it wouldn't shoot him with water. Stiles finally succeeded in turning off the valve and was still on his knees when Derek sputtered and wiped the water off his face.

Stiles watched water stream down Derek's glistening cheekbones through the stubble on his jaw down his neck to pool in the well of his collarbones and soak into the dark grey Henley he was wearing. Derek bit off a curse then shucked his leather jacket, throwing it toward Stiles' table, then stripped off his dripping shirt. Stiles was in the perfect position to watch him pull it up, exposing more of his abs, a six-pack, eight-pack, _something_ that Stiles wanted to drink in and get drunk on. Then his chest, broad and perfectly toned as Stiles had imagined, before the shirt whipped over head and he tossed it toward the table, too.

Stiles could only gulp when Derek leaned back over and his belt buckle was _right there_ at eye level. "Did you do that on purpose, you little shit?"

"No, nope, I have no idea how that happened, oh my god, I am so sorry." Stiles saw Derek snarl at him—who fucking snarls—and he skittered back out of the way. Derek just slammed his toolbox open and rooted for whatever he was looking for.

Stiles took the opportunity to escape to safety in the kitchen doorway. From that new vantage, he could see Derek had a tattoo across his back, a swirling pattern that Stiles longed to trace with his tongue. When Derek straightened and stood up again, Stiles had to fan himself, _fan himself_ like a middle-aged woman with hot flashes, because the sight was just that hot.

Derek turned, catching the motion in his peripheral vision, so Stiles tried to turn it into a nonchalant hand flail and pat through his hair. Derek seemed to think the spasm was normal, which Stiles had to admit, was probably his true opinion from his limited exposure to Stiles' patented seduction techniques. Which, he would agree, maybe needed some more work before they were unleashed to the general public.

"That was so hot, it really turned me on," he blurted then tried to clear it up with, "I mean, that water must have been hot. I don't know how it got turned on."

Derek was braced on the sink and Stiles saw him curl his hand tighter around the hex wrench he was holding. Stiles hurried on to say, "I'll just leave you to your work now, 'kay, bye," before he fled to the living room.

There were no more noises from the kitchen and no flood of water, so Stiles figured the repairs were getting on all right. He turned on the TV, turned it off, turned on his iPod but when "Pour Some Sugar on Me" came on shuffle and he started imagining shaking sugar all over Derek's wet chest, he thought he'd better sit in silence. So, he opened his laptop and searched for ways to stop making a fool of yourself in front of the hottest guy you'd ever seen. Hypothetically.

He was trying to resist clicking any of the porn links when suddenly Derek was standing in front of him, holding his wet jacket and shirt in one hand and his toolbox in the other. Stiles tore his gaze from Derek's naked chest, hoping Derek hadn't noticed, and focused on his eyes instead.

"Your rubber's shot," Derek announced.

Stiles mouth opened, closed and opened again. "What?" he managed.

Derek sighed. "Your rubber O-rings in the faucet. Both of them went bad. I'll have to get a new kit and fix it tomorrow. Can you live without water in there one more night?"

Stiles was nodding before he finished his sentence. "Yes, yep, sure, I can definitely do that. I just really appreciate you fixing everything for me. Thank you. And I'm very sorry you got wet. Hope you, uh, dry off soon."

Derek stood there, still dripping and staring into Stiles' eyes. Stiles tried not to imagine that Derek's eyes were watching his lips when he licked them in his usual nervous tic. Surely they weren't that interesting.

"You make a really great handyman. You know, because you're handy to have around, and you have those great big, really handy looking hands. That I'm sure you're very good at using." Stiles looked up from Derek's gorgeous hands clutching his things back to his face wearing that expression he seemed to always get around Stiles — the one that Stiles hadn't yet learned to read. "You have very nice hands."

"You really know how to push my buttons," Derek said before he stomped out and slammed the door behind him. Stiles gaped for a while at that then ate a microwave meal that didn't require water.

But the whole exchange bothered him in so many ways. He picked at it and the thoughts niggled at him until he couldn't stand it anymore. The whole thing with Derek was so fucked up, fucked up beyond belief, when all Stiles really wanted to do was fuck Derek.

The next evening, his faucet was fixed and that made him happy. But he was still getting more upset about what he'd named The Derek Situation. He kept replaying their encounters over and over, and only every third time did his imagination run away with him and they ended up on the kitchen table or bent over the sink instead of Stiles being embarrassed and Derek storming out.

Sure, Stiles was allowed to blurt out things that might possibly be considered — only by someone with a truly dirty mind — double entendres. Those innuendos were only arguably naughty to someone who was naughty to begin with. But, Derek, he was not allowed to make questionable statements. It only made Stiles a little irritated and a smidge confused and a lot aroused.

So that Saturday when he reached to hang up his towel on the rack after showering and the rack clattered to the ground, Stiles stared at the holes in the wall and made a plan. First, he peeked out his bedroom window to make sure the Camaro was parked by the guesthouse and then he made his call.

When Derek knocked on the door, Stiles was ready to sweep it open. "Thank you for coming," he said in a serious voice that seemed to make Derek take a step back.

"You're… welcome?" Derek said and let Stiles lead him through the apartment for once. Stiles kept his mouth firmly shut until they got to the bathroom and he pointed to where the towel rack had fallen off the wall.

"You can fix that, right?"

"Sure, it'll only take a few minutes," Derek said and dropped his toolbox. Stiles tried not to notice that Derek was sneaking peeks at him out of the corner of his eye, but Stiles refused to say anything else. Yet.

He waited until Derek had examined the rack and poked at the holes where the screws had come loose. "Do you mind if I move it up a few inches? These holes are stripped, and anything I screw in will just work its way out again," Derek said while Stiles focused on the way his eyelashes brushed his cheeks as he talked.

Stiles cleared his throat. "No, I don't mind. You can get it up— put it up wherever you want." This time, he knew he wasn't imagining Derek looking at him, but Derek just nodded, pencil marking where he wanted, then getting out a cordless drill.

Stiles waited until Derek had done one side then started the drill again, noise almost covering up his little dramatic moan. "Yeah, that's it, drill it in," he said. Derek's finger slipped off the trigger of the drill, but he quickly compensated and started the next hole. Stiles tried again. "Yeah, you really know how to move that, don't you. All that power, you can just drill right in."

Derek's finger twitched again, but he tried to play it off and set down the power tool to pick up a screwdriver. He put a screw to the new hole and tested it.

Stiles let out another moan. "Look at you, with your big screwdriver. That is one big tool, but it looks hard. It's really hard, isn't it?"

The screwdriver fell from Derek's fingers, and Stiles was satisfied to see he didn't even try to catch it.

"Oh, you might need to hold it tighter. Really get your hand around it and squeeze. Work it in and just screw until you bottom out."

Once he got started, fully on purpose, Stiles realized it was a lot of fun. And it just rolled off his tongue without any thought. He knew now that he'd never have a chance at actually seducing a man like Derek, but that didn't mean he couldn't have fun harassing him. And it _was_ fun. Derek was fumbling to hold the towel rack with one hand while he slotted in the screws and screwed with the other. It was apparent he wasn't going to ask Stiles for help as he moved as quickly as he could.

"Mmm," Stiles said. "You really do know how to screw. Just like that. You know how to move it, drive it in, make it fit, make it work juuust right."

He thought he saw the moment when Derek gave in — which yay, finally a reaction, but really not the one he was going for. He was hoping for more dropping of the tools, throwing him against the wall/counter/shower/floor/bed/table, anything really, and then doing him.

Instead, Derek just gave him one of those looks that involved those striking eyes and those forbidding eyebrows, and Stiles just couldn't read it. He was excellent at body language usually, could always tell what Scott was thinking better than a psychic, but he couldn't figure out Derek.

Derek did drop his screwdriver into the toolbox and let the towel rack hang drunkenly from one secure side. "I'll finish this up Monday," he said and locked the toolbox with a slam.

"But where will I put my towel when I get out of the shower all naked and wet, water dripping from my body? I can't walk through the apartment all naked and without clothes. What if someone looks in and sees my young, nubile body?" Stiles followed Derek as he all but hustled to the apartment door. "You never know what might happen to me, nude and alone, if I don't have somewhere to hang my towel."

His door hit the wall when Derek blew through it. Stiles couldn't resist one more. He leaned his head into the hall and yelled, "So that's it? It's over? I'd much rather be under you."

He could actually hear Derek's boots tromp down the stairs, and he couldn't help but laugh. If he couldn't have Derek, then maybe the next thing would be to sit back and enjoy it. He kept laughing to himself as he spent a few minutes with the screwdriver he'd borrowed from his Dad and got the towel rack finished.

"Ha, I _did_ get under his skin," Stiles stood back to examine the new placement of the rack. "That is totally crooked. He shouldn't have eyeballed it."

Although his humor lasted for a while, that evening he went to Scott and Allison's and got a little depressed all over again. It was one thing to lust over the hot maintenance guy, but it was another thing to see a sickeningly happy couple draped over each other, enjoying their Saturday night together. It made Stiles feel lonely, and he wondered what Derek was doing. The Camaro had been parked at the guesthouse when he'd left, like it was almost every night since he'd met Derek, but he couldn't help but imagine that Derek had an active dating life somehow.

The next day, Stiles wasn't sure how he felt about The Derek Situation. Like many things in his life, it made him feel a little anxious, a tad embarrassed and a bit aroused. Well, the simple thought of _Derek_ left him aroused, but now his feelings were getting involved instead of just his dick, and that left him unsatisfied.

After he puttered around the apartment, ate his cereal dry then drank milk right out of the carton, Stiles still didn't know what to do. Should he take action and call Derek to apologize for acting goofy? Should he wreck something in the apartment then beg Derek to repair it? Should he demand Derek return and fix his towel rack? Should he take off all his clothes and throw himself at the guesthouse? Of course, that would only backfire and probably leave him with Peter, so, no, Stiles thought with a shudder.

It was after he'd showered and his towel sagged a bit down to the lower end that he thought he would give it a try. He couldn't make a bigger fool out of himself if he tried—and he had tried—so he really didn't have anything to lose.

It was Peter who answered the phone and promised to send Derek over as soon as he got home from the grocery store. Somehow it was endearing that Derek went grocery shopping, and that's when Stiles realized that he had more than a bit of a crush.

He slapped his own head a couple times and told himself to get over it. Derek would just come over, fix the rack, and Stiles would stay out of his way and keep his mouth shut. Maybe he would offer him a beer or … no, Stiles wouldn't even try for the friends route. It'd be better if he nipped his crush in bud.

The afternoon was cold and rainy, making him feel even more depressed, so Stiles turned on the two lamps in the living room. He thought he'd better move his towel so everything was ready for Derek, but when he walked into his bedroom and reached for the light switch, nothing happened. He flicked it a few more times, but the bulb in the overhead light was dead. He squinted up at the ceiling, hating for the first time that it was the one room that had the original high ceilings while most of the other rooms were replaced with drop ceilings. It was a good twelve-foot reach, and he didn't have a step stool. But, the kitchen chairs were pretty high.

He dragged one into the bedroom, but it wasn't nearly high enough. The light was directly over his bed, so if he balanced the chair on top of the mattress, he should be able to stretch. It was risky, and Stiles knew he hadn't been overly gifted with natural grace, but surely it would work.

He perched on the chair, standing with one foot on its back to get enough leverage to reach up and unscrew the glass cover from the light fixture. It was working fine, so he spared a thought for Derek. He was just thinking how proud he'd be that Stiles could change his own light bulbs and how he was glad Derek couldn't see if he did take a tumble because he wasn't entirely sure Derek wouldn't let him fall to his death.

That's when the inevitable happened. His weight shifted, the chair swayed and Stiles was falling. Of course, he wasn't falling straight down to land on the bed, no, he could feel himself going off to the side and wow, the floor looked pretty far down from up here when something slammed into him and he bounced onto his side on the bed.

Sucking in a deep breath and letting it out in a rush, he blinked up to see Derek staring down at him, nostrils flaring.

"What the hell were you doing?" he demanded.

Stiles grinned because surviving a near-death experience was apparently pretty funny. "You saved me! Thank you!"

"Stiles, why the hell were you standing on a chair on the bed? That is the craziest, most unsafe—"

"Hey, why are you here? How are you here? Did you just let yourself in?" Stiles started to catch up now that his heart wasn't racing quite as badly.

Derek shrugged it off. "You didn't answer my knock, so I used the key. I thought you weren't here."

"So you just thought you'd come into my apartment while I was gone," Stiles sat up on the bed, but he didn't trust his jittery legs to hold him up quite yet.

"You're the one who called me to come fix your ridiculous towel rack," Derek argued.

"Well, you still should have knocked louder. I could have been doing someone in here. I mean, something."

Derek snorted. "Really, is that the best you can come up with?"

Stiles bristled a little at Derek's challenging eyebrow but then he deflated. He moved to sit at the edge of the bed and rubbed at his face.

"Yeah, okay, you got me. You obviously know that with the smooth come-on lines I have, no one wants to be around me any longer than necessary," he said.

Derek snorted again and Stiles froze when he felt a big hand come down on the top of his head and rub it, just a little, but enough that he wanted to lean into it like a giant cat. "I'm glad you weren't hurt," Derek said.

"You caught me," Stiles repeated and tilted his head to smile at Derek then enjoy the feeling of Derek's hand slipping down to cup the side of his head.

"I just pushed you," Derek corrected. "Made sure you landed on the bed."

"Whatever," Stiles said. "You totally saved me. I can't believe I don't have any jokes that fit this particular situation." He leaned a little more into Derek's hand and the thumb that was smoothing along his cheek.

"Really? I have a good one about how many Stiles it takes to change a light bulb," Derek said, and Stiles had to gape up at him.

"How many… You joke. Don't joke. It's very disconcerting," Stiles gaped more when Derek smiled, a grin that showed even teeth and crinkled his eyes. "Huh, your smile is even more disconcerting. But you can keep doing that."

Derek just shook his head, still smiling, and leaned over a little closer to Stiles' face. "Is there anything else you want me to keep doing?"

Stiles tilted his head up, putting his lips in perfect position, a mere breath away from Derek's. "There are a lot of things I'd like you to _start_ doing."

And just like that, Derek was kissing him. Stiles couldn't help but make a little noise against his lips and opened his mouth eagerly, but Derek seemed intent on keeping it slow and deliberate. He focused on kissing every bit of Stiles' lips, little chaste nips that left Stiles panting. His thumb kept stroking along Stiles' cheek and just the two points of contact were enough to leave Stiles suffering sensory overload.

Then he remembered that _he_ could touch and wondered what would happen if he … oh. He cupped Derek's face with his hands, fingers brushing against the stubble that Derek always had going on, and the motion seemed to finally spur Derek. He slotted his mouth harder against Stiles', but still didn't accept the invitation Stiles was laying out, flicking his own tongue against Derek's wandering lips. Derek just pulled his top lip in and sucked, a motion that made Stiles whine and tug his face harder.

Instead Derek pulled away, just far enough to breathe against Stiles' lips.

"Do you never do as you're told?" Stiles huffed at him.

Derek snorted. "I didn't know you were telling me to do anything. I didn't hear any words, and believe me, I know what your voice sounds like. Been hearing nothing but your voice for weeks."

"My voice, huh? Is that what finally won you over?" Stiles couldn't believe he could tease Derek when he was like this, leaning down to him, touching his face. Stiles let one hand wander down Derek's neck and along his shoulder, squeezing the muscle, before running down the arm Derek had braced against the bed.

"Sure, that and the way you obviously have no brain to mouth filter. It's like watching a train wreck and a car crash all at the same time. I can't look away." Stiles watched Derek grin and just had to kiss him again, but Derek pulled back after Stiles' tongue swiped across his lower lip. Derek licked his own lip and breathed out, "And your eyes. You have the brightest eyes I've ever seen and you're always watching me. I feel them on me. And your mouth, with those lips."

Stiles started to pant a little when Derek swept his thumb across his lips, and he couldn't resist flicking out his tongue for a taste. Derek groaned and moved his thumb back, letting Stiles suck it into his mouth and tongue at it suggestively while he kept his eyes locked on Derek's.

Derek just pulled his thumb out of Stiles' mouth and replaced it with his tongue — finally, Stiles crowed to himself. Now kissing Derek was pretty close to how he'd imagined it, hot tongue owning his mouth, lapping into him like Derek couldn't get enough of his taste. Stiles' tongue happily followed it right back into Derek's mouth where Derek took up sucking Stiles' tongue in a thoroughly suggestive way.

That did it for Stiles, and he was more than half hard when he pulled back. "Down, get down here," he commanded, trying to pull Derek's shoulders while he scooted back on the double bed, realizing that things would be a lot more comfortable if they were on equal levels. Derek pulled away, and Stiles wanted to freak out before he realized Derek was just taking off his leather coat, letting it lay where it dropped then toeing off his shoes.

Stiles licked his own lips and scooted toward the pillows to rest his head while Derek prowled back toward him, never breaking eye contact as he knelt on the bed beside Stiles then swung a leg over to straddle Stiles on hands and knees.

Then Derek gave a little grunt when he bumped the kitchen chair that was still where it had tipped on the bed. He pushed it and it thumped to the floor.

"Dude, my chair!" Stiles started to sit up, nearly cracking his head into Derek's, but Derek pushed him back down with one big hand on the middle of his chest.

"Forget the chair," Derek said.

"But, you probably broke it!"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Then I'll fix it for you," he said before leaning down to kiss at the hinge of Stiles' jaw, then dot kisses along his cheek.

"You'll fix it, huh, you big handyman," Stiles couldn't help but smile and curl his arms around Derek's neck, pulling him closer as Derek kissed down his neck.

"I'm good at working with wood," Derek told him, and Stiles froze.

"You… you did it again," he accused and felt Derek huff out a laugh against his neck before licking a stripe up his Adam's apple and start on the other side. "You cannot just give me a line like that and expect me to leave it alone."

"Stiles, I would never expect you to leave it alone," Derek said solemnly before stroking down Stiles' neck and resuming his little licks and nips. Although there seemed to be no pattern to his kissing, as Stiles tipped his chin back so Derek could reach more, he realized Derek was kissing each and every one of his moles.

"Uhn, that's hot," he groaned. "What are you… playing connect the dots?"

Derek's little laugh rumbled beside his ear that he'd decided needed kissed as well. "Sure. I want to lick them all. Do they go all the way down?"

Stiles gulped. "Why don't you find out."

Derek moved back and Stiles sat up as far as he could when he felt Derek tug at the hem of his T-shirt. Derek's eyebrow was questioning, but Stiles was more than happy to agree. He pulled his shirt over his head then felt that hot rush of not knowing what to do to look sexy when you're the only one half naked. So he gestured to Derek. "You can, too."

Derek stripped off his shirt just as smoothly as he had when the faucet had sprayed him, and Stiles was no less impressed this time. Especially when he could _touch_ this time. And he did. He brushed his fingers up Derek's unbelievable abs, quirking a smile when Derek's muscles twitched at the light touch. He circled Derek's belly button with his thumb, ran his hands up the sides of his ribs then curved his hands inward to cup Derek's pecs. Derek had withstood the touching with nothing more than heavy breathing but when Stiles swept a thumb across his nipple, he groaned and leaned down, kissing Stiles hungrily this time.

Stiles could only hang on and kiss back, smoothing his hands down Derek's back, kneading the muscles as he went. Derek seemed to like that from the intensity of his kisses, so Stiles did it harder, hands going lower until with the next squeeze, he was right above Derek's ass. When his hands went there, Derek's hips jolted forward, and Stiles moaned when he felt the proof that Derek was just as into it as he was.

Derek moaned, too, and ripped his mouth away from Stiles' to restart his quest to map each and every one of Stiles' moles. He started with the collar bone this time and worked his way down, kissing then nipping then soothing it with a lick. It was all Stiles could do to not wriggle so hard that he'd buck Derek off. Then Derek abandoned the moles somewhere around his belly and ducked up to lick a nipple and pull it between his teeth to suckle.

Stiles shouted and Derek smirked, one hand holding Stiles' shoulder flat to the bed, the other skimming up and down his ribs. "You like that," he growled and Stiles could only frantically nod, all thought of speech ripped out of him by Derek's mouth.

Derek blew over the wet nipple, and Stiles swore he felt it harden, just as quickly as his cock did. He wanted to grind up against Derek, but now he was holding Stiles' hip flat as he set to work licking and suckling the other nipple. It was torture of the best kind, Stiles thought, but he really wanted something to rut against.

"Derek, Derek, let me, please," Stiles begged.

"Let you what, Stiles?" Derek looked at him from his spot on Stiles' chest, and Stiles thought that up close Derek's eyes were even more incredible. Hell, _all_ of him was even more incredible up close.

"Let me have you," Stiles croaked out. Derek smirked and Stiles tried to backpedal. "I mean, let me touch you."

"You are touching me," Derek pointed out, and Stiles couldn't help but squeeze his hands that were still on Derek's ass.

"I want to touch you more. Touch you with my—" Stiles' voice broke off when Derek took pity and dipped his hips, rubbing his erection alongside Stiles'. Even through several layers of underwear and denim, it felt fabulous, but Stiles was greedy like that and wanted more.

"More, more," he threw his head back into the pillows as Derek started a little slow grind.

"How much more do you want?" Derek said, sliding back to sit fully astride Stiles' hips. Stiles tried to buck up again, but Derek's weight pinned him. "Stiles, what do you want?"

"You," Stiles blurted out and couldn't believe that Derek Hale's face knew how to smirk like that. The look was almost wolfish, he thought.

"Okay," Derek agreed and petted down Stiles' stomach to the button of his jeans. "But, what do you want to do tonight?"

Stiles' first reaction was again "You," but then he realized that Derek was trying to be considerate, letting him set the pace for whatever was going on between them. It was yet another thing that really endeared Derek to him. But he couldn't get his hormone-laden brain that was short on blood supply at the moment to speak that. He could only fumble at Derek's belt buckle and hope that was answer enough.

It seemed to be, because Derek stilled his hands and leaned down to kiss him one more time, open-mouthed and filthy, tongue and lips stealing away Stiles' breath.

"Where are your condoms and lube?" Derek asked as he rolled off Stiles.

"Condoms," Stiles parroted back. Derek quirked an eyebrow at him. "Condoms, yes, condoms, NO," Stiles moaned out and thumped his fist into the mattress. "I don't have condoms," he finally admitted.

"What kind of 22-year-old guy doesn't keep condoms handy?" Derek said, and Stiles flung his arm over his face to cover his embarrassment.

"The kind of guy who isn't expecting to get any with a guy like you," he mumbled, but Derek heard him and tugged his arm away. Derek's smile was smaller but no less intense and possibly the hottest thing Stiles had ever seen. He felt his heart warm with nearly as much heat as his cock.

"It's okay. We can manage," Derek said. "Lube?"

Stiles motioned toward the nightstand. "Lotion," he said. "You want to…" Stiles did a hand motion that left no doubt what he was thinking, and Derek nodded.

"Whatever feels good?" he said and Stiles agreed. Derek grabbed the tube of hand lotion and lay back on the bed, on his side this time. Stiles rolled to face him, and Derek grabbed his hip to urge him closer. He butted his nose against Stiles' and kissed him, softly and slowly again. Stiles held on to his shoulder, then rubbed down his arm, feeling the muscles work as Derek clung to his hip.

"This feels good," Stiles said, a bit muzzy when Derek nibbled his earlobe. "You know what would feel better?"

Derek sucked in a quick breath when Stiles' fingers found his belt buckle again and worked it open. "Yes," he hissed out when Stiles managed to unbutton his fly and get his fingers on the zipper. But, before Stiles unzipped him, he ran his hand over the bulge in Derek's jean, which only made him harder.

"You do want this," Stiles breathed out and Derek could only nod, butting his head against Stiles' while he looked at him in amazement. It gave Stiles courage to unzip his fly and reach right in, under his briefs, to the hot skin underneath. It was an awkward angle, but Derek's cock felt too good in his hand and Derek's moan seemed to agree.

He only got to run his fingers down Derek's cock and manage one clumsy stroke when Derek grabbed his hands. "You too," he grunted, voice breathless.

Stiles' hands weren't working the best, so it took both of them to manage his fly and then Derek was tugging down his pants and underwear while trying to shimmy out of his own. It probably looked ridiculous to an outsider, but feeling the rub of Derek's skin against his as they both got naked felt too amazing to care what they looked like. When the Derek's underwear were finally off, Stiles tossed them across the room and went to work admiring Derek's body with his mouth.

He kissed and licked across Derek's broad chest, pushing him down so Stiles could climb partway on him for better reach. Derek let himself be manhandled as he took the opportunity to skim his hands down Stiles' body, every touch making Stiles hotter and hotter.

The next few minutes were the hottest of his life, and Stiles tried to remember every moment even as the pleasure made him shake and Derek soon joined him. Stiles kissed his forehead that was tucked into Stiles' neck and held him as he finished coming.

He never wanted to let go.

It seemed that Derek felt the same way because for long minutes, he just lay in Stiles' arms until their breathing grew regular and, as Stiles found out the hard way, the come grew cold and sticky. Then Derek pulled away with a grunt and Stiles rolled onto his back.

He didn't know what to say when Derek sat up and swung his feet to the floor. "Stay there," Derek said, so he obeyed, idly rubbing the come into his skin. Derek returned a minute later with a washcloth that Stiles took gratefully to rub at his stomach and hip.

It was a little unnerving that Derek stood by the bed and watched, but Stiles was still too blissed out to feel truly embarrassed. When Derek took the washcloth back to the bathroom, Stiles stood up and pulled down the bedspread and sheets. Although it was only evening, he thought he deserved a nap after that work out. And it would only be better if he could persuade Derek to join him.

In the end, it didn't take any persuasion because Derek crawled right in beside him, lying on his back and opening his arm so Stiles could crawl close.

"Does this mean we're dating?" Stiles said as he rubbed his cheek against Derek's chest.

"We haven't gone out on a date yet," Derek pointed out and Stiles hummed.

"You know, I think I saw a movie like this once. It started with a super hot maintenance man turning up to service some guy's pipes, but it ended up pretty much the same," Stiles said. Derek swatted his head.

"Don't compare this to a porno," he said. "And don't tell me you want to film us."

Stiles just smiled and snuggled into his chest a little closer. "Do you have a sexy plumber's outfit? Or a pair of hot pants? That would work."

"Go to sleep, Stiles," Derek's voice was gruff, but the hand he stroked down Stiles' back was comforting.

"Okay," Stiles agreed. "But in the morning, you're fixing my towel rack. And you're wearing nothing but a tool belt." He felt Derek's lips brush his forehead, and he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

The end

Author's note: I edited this story to fit FFN's Mature rating. If you want to read the unedited, explicit version, please visit zeph317 over at archive of our own. Thank you so much for reading!


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